On Site
by Varda's Servant
Summary: Strange things can happen at the site of a rescue.
1. Chapter 1

"Hostes aliengeni me abduxerent. Qui annus est?"

Scott stared at the man. "What?" he said.

"Hostes aliengeni me abduxerent. Qui annus est?"

"Um…" Without breaking eye contact with the short man in front of him, Scott raised his watch to his lips. "John?" he asked softly, "You there?"

"I'm reading you loud and clear Scott. What do you need?"

"A translation."

"A translation? You're in California, what do you need a translation for?"

"There's this guy," he began, before realizing it was probably better not to explain.

"A guy." John sounded dubious. "Like someone we rescue?"

"Yeah. I just pulled him out of one of the collapsed buildings."

"Is he hurt?"

Scott looked closer at the strange man. He was short, dark-haired, maybe middle aged, and he looked healthy. "Not a scratch on him."

"Wait, nothing? Not even a bruise?"

"No…"

"That was a pretty big quake."

"Yeah, well, maybe he was just lucky."

"Hostes aliengeni me abduxerent. Qui annus est?" The man looked puzzled, but patient, as he repeated his question.

"That him?"

"Yeah." Scott said slowly, eyes still on the stranger. "And he's been saying this one phrase at me for about ten minutes. Any idea what it means?"

"Get him to repeat it, I missed it the first time."

"Right." Taking a deep breath, Scott lowered his arm. "Sir? Sir? Could you please repeat yourself?"

The man looked politely blank.

"Sir, do you understand me?"

"Hostes aliengeni me abduxerent. Qui annus est?" he said.

Scott looked back to his watch. "Did you get that?"

"Uh, yeah…"

"Do you know what it means?"

"Um…"

"What? What does it mean? Is he hitting on me or something?"

Snorting, John shook his head. "Nothing like that bro. But it's strange all the same."

"Okay. So what? I promise not to freak."

"Um, no, I wasn't thinking you would freak. It's just – strange, is all."

"John," Scott was trying not to let his impatience show, "just tell me what he's saying."

"I'll do better than that. Tell him what year it is."

"Is that what he's saying?"

"Sort of."

"Right." Scott sighed heavily and turned to the short man and told him the date.

The man looked politely blank. Scott shook his head.

"Nothing. I don't think he understands English. That's why I called you, you know." He sounded rather caustic. "Now what?"

"Now… well… What's he wearing?"

"Some torn clothes. Really dirty."

"Thanks Scott, that's really helpful."

"Always."

Shaking his head, John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right, so what is he wearing?"

"Take all my fun," complained Scott half-heartedly. "Um, looks like a loose sort of shirt thing with a… skirt?"

"Uh huh. Right. I want you to tell him this…" He said a strange phrase that Scott didn't understand.

"You sure?"

"Yes. Now tell him."

"This isn't some sort of practical joke, is it?"

"No, it's not."

"Okay then." Taking a deep breath, Scott carefully repeated the phrase to the man.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"He's gone rather pale. What did I just tell him?"

"What's he doing?"

"I think he's gone into shock. What did I tell-"

Scott paused as he watched the man collapse unconscious to the stony ground. He glared at John and spoke, voice deadly calm. "What did I tell him, John."

John winced. "The year."

"Right. So what is it about that that made him faint, exactly?"

"Well," John sounded uncomfortable, "he was speaking Latin."

"I'm following."

"He was asking what year it was."

"Why?"

"Uh… you won't believe me."

"John…"

"Okay, okay."

"What was it, _exactly_, that he was saying?"

"He was saying 'Aliens abducted me. What year is it?'"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Curses! My muses have conspired against me! They have forced me to write this second scene/chapter thing, and are holding my other stories to ransom until I do. Which is good because people seemed to like this story. It's bad because I am hopeless at Latin. Therefore, there is no Latin in this chapter.

Special thanks to Amy, who beta'd this chapter in leiu of my usual beta. Kudos to Math Girl for the alien abductee's nickname.

**On Deck**

The four young men stood in a loose circle, staring at each other and down at the limp form on the stretcher. No one had moved for the better part of ten minutes.

"So…" Virgil glanced at Alan, who looked at Gordon, who watched Scott, who stared at the Latin-speaking weirdo. Scott looked up to Gordon, who had shifted his gaze to Alan, who was watching Virgil watch the redhead. It probably would have been amusing; except that everyone was so busy looking at each other that none of them seemed to actually see anyone else.

Alan coughed, and glanced at Scott, narrowly missing meeting Gordon's eyes. Had Virgil not been busy looking at their avoidance, he would have noticed Scott looking his way.

Luckily, there was a fifth brother, who wasn't currently having a not-staring contest with everyone.

Tired of the awkward silence, John sighed. Loudly. Then he tried coughing. He briefly considered sneezing, but came to the conclusion that more direct action was needed.

"Y'know, guys, while it's all very well and good to stand around doing nothing, Father does want you back at some point this year."

All four earth-bound brothers managed to direct their attention to one person now, though with him not being actually on the planet made not-staring at him difficult. Or easy, depending on your point of view. Moreover, the fact that he was 'there' through a watch face made _actually_-staring at him all but impossible. However, quite fortunately, his voice was enough to focus the lot of them.

"Right, yeah, okay John. Has Father called in yet?" Scott raised his wrist, allowing face-to-face contact.

"Not yet." John shook his head ruefully. "I haven't actually mentioned Titus there, just in case he was actually an escaped mental patient. No chance of that, is there?"

John sounded so very hopeful, and Scott was reluctant to dash that hope. Unfortunately, it had been a vain wish at best. Most mental patients didn't speak perfect Latin.

"Sorry Johnny, no luck there. No one knew who he was, and he isn't on record anywhere. He's a John Doe."

John sighed expressively. "Okay then. I guess I'll give Father the update, see what he wants us to do."

Scott nodded once, his brother's face disappearing as the blond signed off. Raising his hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to think of the possible repercussions of this simple discovery.

"Scott?" Looking up, the pilot noticed his brothers looking at him with concern.

"I'm fine guys. However, we have someone here who isn't."

Four head swivelled simultaneously to look at the still unconscious man lying in the middle of Pod Five.

"So what now? We just wait?" Virgil glanced around the circle, then back to their passenger.

"We could take him home. I mean, at least we'll know he's safe, and Brains and John can both speak Latin, so that's not a problem."

Gordon snorted, eyeing Alan. "Right. Except for the whole secrecy thing."

"Who's he going to tell? The aliens?"

"Who even says that this guy isn't a plant? This could just be an elaborate ruse to find us."

"You don't think they'd come up with something a little more plausible that _this_? A Latin speaking alien abductee? Real smooth plan, that one. Sure fire, _never_ gonna fail. "

"Well, how else are they going to convince us to take a rescuee with us? 'Cause we're _really_ in the habit of bringing people to our secret base because they ask nicely."

"Fine then. What do _you_ suggest?"

"Leave him here; there are plenty of medical personnel. Dump him and go."

"What?"

"I _said_ let's just dump him and go. It's the safest course of action."

"I heard you; I was just wondering what on Earth you've been smoking to think that's a good idea."

"Maybe it wasn't something on Earth. After all, you're a _huge_ fan of the "aliens" theory."

Scott stepped forwards, halting Alan mid-retort. "Enough guys, this isn't helping."

Grumbling, Alan glared at Gordon, who ignored him, focussing instead on his eldest brother. With more than a hint of pique, he said, "You got a plan then Scotty?"

"Yeah. We wait to hear from Dad or John. _Then_ we decide, as a group. Not bicker like four year olds. Okay?"

"Sure." Sighing, Gordon moved away from the small group, slumping down onto a nearby bench. With that, the tension broke, and Virgil stepped away as well, heading towards the main elevator.

"I'm gonna prep us, make sure we're ready to go soon, whatever the decision. John was right. I do want to get home sometime before I'm thirty." With a grin and a jaunty salute, the engineer disappeared from sight.

_I'm glad **someone** finds this amusing…_ Gordon resisted trying to pinch away his headache like Scott.

Alan sat down right where he was, not bothering to move the lengthy ten feet to a seat. Mussing his hair tiredly, he watched the cause of their troubles idly. "Hope Dad figures something out soon," he muttered.

"He will." Scott was the only one who hadn't moved, his gaze wandering over the inside of the pod. Most of the equipment was dirty, muddy or charred. Not that he begrudged the people who needed rescuing; he just hated the cleanup. Always tedious, and earthquakes were almost as bad as mudslides, even without uninvited guests.

"Where do you think he's from?"

The question caught both Gordon and Scott off guard. Alan was staring at the man, and it looked like he was contemplating something.

Biting back a sarcastic remark, Gordon shrugged. Keeping his voice as neutral as possible, he said carefully, "Depends if he's a spy or not, I suppose."

"True, that."

Inwardly sighing in relief, Gordon pushed himself up, trudging to where his brothers were. He looked at the man, really _looked_ at him for the first time since being summoned back to Thunderbird Two.

"Huh. Hey, Scott?"

"Yeah Gordo?"

"Why's he wearing a skirt?"

_TBC… I think…_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Well, here's chapter three, featuring a _lot_ of Latin. Also, I must warn you guys, I have no idea how well this is actually going. This chapter in particular felt a little off, and there's not much going on but rambling. However, chapter four is being written, so you're guaranteed that much, at the very least.

Thanks to Amy for helping out on the Latin bits, I especially had fun on that last one, and for betaing. Again, MG's alien abductee's nickname is used, so thanks for that too.

**On Station**

"… and the others are still grounded, waiting to hear back." John finished, head beginning to buzz with the last of the rescue-induced adrenaline.

"Thanks John. I'll, uh, get back to you and your brothers soon. Base out."

"Right, Father. Thunderbird Five out." The blond astronaut sagged backwards into the command chair, the microphone carelessly clattering against the cold console. He didn't know what his brothers were doing, what his father would make of this, hell, what _any_ of his family were making of this, and right at that moment, he didn't care.

"I swear," he muttered, too tired to be properly angry, "I swear, some days, I'm a weirdness magnet."

Sighing, he slid further down into the chair, the soft upholstery cradling his aching body. It was one of the advantages to a private operation. John had never had anything this comfortable on the moon base.

It was several long moments before he realized that he'd dozed off, and several more moments still before he realized that his communicator was beeping. Rubbing his eyes, John lifted his watch.

"Go ahead, Scott."

"Hey John. You okay? Did I interrupt something?"

No, no. I was just…" John looked at his smugly knowing older brother, and grinned rather sheepishly.

"You fell asleep." Scott's tone wasn't accusatory, nor amused, but John knew he'd pay for the slip.

"Almost nearly."

Scott snorted. "Uh-huh. So in between naps, did you get a reply from Dad?"

"Sorry bro, no luck. I'm not sure he believed me when I told him."

"We're just lucky it's not Alan up in the station. I highly doubt Father would ever believe him if he called something like this in."

John laughed, trying to imagine his youngest brother convincing his father that they'd picked up an alien abductee. "I can just picture it."

"Yeah, well, it's just so _strange_. I mean, if he really _was_ abducted… God…" All levity abruptly gone, the brothers stared at each other. "This could be huge. Just think, we'd have irrefutable proof of alien existence."

"Sure. If anyone actually _believed_ us. That's tabloid material, right there. I can see the headlines now: _International Rescue Aids Little Green Men._"

Scott chuckled, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "True. It's still weird."

"Well, we _are_ International Rescue. Weird is part of the job." John grinned.

Chuckling, Scott raised an eyebrow. "Funny, I thought rescues were part of the job."

"Either way you put it, our lives aren't exactly organized around high probability events."

"True that. Call me when Dad gets back to you, if you aren't snoozing the day away. Thunderbird Two out."

As the small watch face went dark, John grinned to himself. If nothing else, Scott had at least woken him up. Reluctantly, he heaved himself from the far too comfortable chair and off in search of heavily sweetened forms of caffeine.

Three cups of coffee, a cola, and a bathroom break later, he returned to the console, refreshed, awake, and ready for anything. Unfortunately, it seemed anything wasn't ready for him. Or, at least, his family wasn't.

"C'mon guys. _Do_ something already." John tapped impatiently at a few buttons, monitoring several weather-related potential disaster areas. Routine, and boring. Unlike their hitchhiker. He tapped a few more buttons, ran a diagnostic, gnawed his lip until it almost bled, and cracked his neck.

The blond keyed the comm., deciding to take matters into his own hands. After all, how long could it possibly take to make this decision?

"Thunderbird Five to International Rescue. Come in Base."

It was several long moments before his father answered the call, during which John impatiently tapped out a few more routine commands on Five's monitors. When the older Tracy finally did open his end of the channel, John noticed how harried Jeff truly looked.

"Hey Dad, are you alright down there?"

"Yes son, I'm fine. We've just been busy discussing our options."

"Come up with anything yet?"

"That would be a negative." Jeff sighed, tiredly mussing his hair, then smoothing it out again. "We're stuck, just now."

"You don't want to bring him back to the island." John made it a statement, confident he knew his father well enough to gauge him that much.

"No. I – _we_ – don't think it's safe. Honestly, what proof do we have that this isn't some elaborate scheme to infiltrate us?"

John could only shrug helplessly.

"Well, I'll call you as soon as we decide. Tracy Island out."

John cut the comm., trying to think past the logical part of his brain, which was currently having a field day trying to get his attention. The problem with this situation was that it required a rather serious suspension of disbelief. Logic had no place here, not really. After all, _logically_, this wasn't even happening.

John reached up and carefully selected a hair from the top of his head. With one sharp tug, he pulled it, root and all.

"Ow!" Jumping, John sagged backwards. "Fine then. Have it your way…"

Muttering to himself, he opened a channel to Thunderbird Two. After all, misery loves company.

Virgil answered the comm., looking rather fresher than either Scott or his father had. And cheerful. _Why_ _the hell was he cheerful?_

"Hey John, what's up?"

"Hey Virg. I was just hoping to get an update for Dad."

Virgil grinned, and John wanted to smack him. "Well, Gordon and Alan are busy trying to figure out where Titus came from, Scott's brushing up on his Latin, just in case, and I'm doodling."

"Right. So…"

"You want to talk to Scott?" Virgil's eyes had lost a bit of their merriment, though his smile (_smirk_) hadn't changed.

John only nodded, and a minute later his eldest dark haired brother appeared.

"Aspice," John began, just to piss Scott off. "Officio fungeris sine spe honoris amplioris."

Scott stared. "What?"

"I said, 'Face it, you're stuck in a dead end job.'"

Groaning, Scott shook his head. "I shouldn't have asked. So, why the call?"

John took pity on the pilot. He looked worn, more so than the last time John had seen him. "I was just looking for an update, and Virgil is beyond usefulness. How is he so cheerful?"

Scott shrugged. "Beats me. He seems to find this whole situation amusing."

After several moments of silence, John decided that if he couldn't torment Virgil, Scott was the next best thing.

"Y'know," John raised an eyebrow, "he did mention that you were brushing up on your Latin."

"Right. Well, I thought it might be useful knowing a few phrases."

Scott must have been tired, the astronaut decided. He missed entirely the subtle clues of impending doom. "Huh, right. So what have you learned so far?"

"That I'm not good with languages."

"Well, Scott, you do know what they say." He grinned.

Scott sighed, slowly shaking his head. "No, John. I don't know what 'they' say. Who are 'they', anyway?"

John ignored the rhetorical question, his grin growing wider. "'Stercus accidit.'" Knowing he would regret it, yet unable to help himself, Scott merely raised an inquiring eyebrow.

The grin grew predatory. "It means, brother dear, 'Shit happens.'"

Scott stared. "That's terrible John."

"Cogito ergo spud?"

"Oh no."

"I think, therefore I yam."

"Why me?"

"Quantum materiae materietur marmota monax si marmota monax materiam possit materiari?"

"Please don't tell-"

"How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"

The last thing John heard before he cut the comm. was his older brother's groan of intellectual agony.

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Right, so here's the fourth chapter. Not so much Latin in here, and dear Eru I have problems writing Gordon. I have also come to the conclusion that I don't like anything I write, and therefore I'm a terrible judge of how stories turn out, and therefore my opinion on the matter is going to be ignored from hence forth.

Thank you once more to Amy, as always, 'cause she's brilliant and witty and has a large stick to beat me with when I procrastinate.

**On Edge**

It was official. He was bored. Bored of the pod, bored of his stinky, dirty uniform, bored of the same conversation with his brother, over and over again.

"Fine," Gordon huffed, bored and almost annoyed. "We'll just have to agree to disagree. He's either a Roman, a Scot, or a transvestite."

Alan groaned, shaking his head. "No _way_ is he a transvestite bro! Even saying so just discounts your spy theory."

"And your Roman theory is that much more coherent?"

"Yes."

The certainty in Alan's voice was suddenly very funny. Gordon burst out laughing, which didn't help his (also bored) brother remain calm. Not that Alan was known for his emotional control anyway.

"Fine then, laugh it up…" he muttered, scowling.

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, Gordon only rolled himself off the bench, still chuckling, and headed towards the elevator.

"Where are you going?" Alan's mood darkened further at his older brother's retreat.

"The flight deck, to check on Scooter. See if an update's come through."

"Right. Have fun."

Swallowing further laughter at Alan's petulant tone, Gordon only nodded.

It wasn't long before the elevator reached it's destination, tipping forwards to allow him access. He pushed aside the rail, stepping onto the main deck, and taking in a very unusual sight.

To Gordon, it appeared that Scott had snapped. The oldest of the Tracy boys was slumped in the pilot's chair, forehead resting against the metal console. That is, until he raised it slightly and thumped it back down. Several times. Forcefully.

That the brunette was also making disturbing groaning noises during this process didn't help his brother's peace of mind any, either.

"Scott?"

_Thump!_ "… aargh…"

"Um, Scott? Are you okay?"

_Thump thump._

Gordon stared at his eldest brother. "What was that? I missed it."

Scott only groaned again, and thumped his head against the console once more for good measure.

"Scott, seriously. What is it?"

"I'm gonna kill him." Scott muttered.

"Kill who?"

"Your brother."

Gordon was intrigued. Scott was never one to let his emotions rule him, and, with the notable exceptions being any time Gordon himself was feeling particularly mischievous (and suicidal), he would easily forgive anything his brothers said or did. "Big help Scott, thanks. Would you like to clarify?"

"How on Earth does he know… Wrong question. _Why_ on Earth does he know how to say that? _Any_ of that?" Raising his eyes to the heavens, Scott glared upwards. "I'm gonna kill you."

"Right, so you're either talking about God, which is highly unlikely, or John."

"Gordon?"

"Yes Scott?"

"Shut up."

"Hey!" Gordon sniffed. "Is that any way to speak to your brother?"

"Yes."

"Fine then. I guess you won't get your birthday present after all."

"Just do me one favor?"

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm asking you nicely."

"You haven't said _please_."

"Don't be a smart ass, and look this up for me, will you?"

Gordon took the slip of paper that his older brother passed him, reading it with interest. "Look it up?"

"Well, I don't want it in English. I _know_ how to say it in English."

"Alright, don't get all huffy. So, how _should_ I look it up? Morse code?"

"I know Morse code. In Latin, please."

"Latin."

"Yup."

"Should I ask?"

"Nope."

"It's for John, isn't it?"

"The sooner you find me a translation, the sooner you'll know. Now shoo!"

With one final glance at his brother, Gordon left the cockpit, wondering what on Earth John said to make Scott so snappy. And if John would possibly teach it to him…

An hour later, Gordon had learned many fascinating phrases in Latin. He had not, unfortunately, gotten the one that Scott wanted, and the red head vaguely wondered what would happen if he substituted _this_ one for it instead. After all, Scott wouldn't know the difference, and the results would certainly be mighty _interesting_…

Shaking off the amusing (but, as previously stated, _suicidal_) impulse, Gordon sat back. Perhaps he was going about his search the wrong way? After all, he really just needed that one word to get a focused search, without having to dig through hundreds of sayings first.

Setting up his search, he grinned when he saw the results. _Bingo!_

From there, it was smooth sailing, but Gordon killed another twenty minutes memorizing his own little stash to drive Scott nuts with. Who knew that Mister Perfect Tracy's weakness was languages?

He shoved the pieces of paper into his uniform pockets, to keep in case he ever really wanted to end up pitched off a cliff. Heading back up to the cockpit, Gordon grinned at the thought of the impending amusement.

"Alright, I've got the translation."

Scott glanced up as his brother entered the flight deck, a small scrap of paper clutched in one hand.

"Excellent! Wait…"

"What now?"

"You didn't ask John, did you?"

"You want it for him, Scott. Do you really think I'd go to him for the translation?"

"Just tell me you didn't."

"Alright, I didn't."

"Now be honest."

"I didn't! Why do you think I would do that?"

"Because you're Gordon."

"Fine then. Last time I'm doing _you_ a favor."

"Can I have it now?"

"You didn't say please."

"_Please._"

Scott looked at the short phrase scribbled onto the paper. It was nearly illegible, Gordon's handwriting skills not exactly the most concise he'd ever seen. "Thanks squirt." He added, almost as an afterthought; already busy dialling up the comm.

_Baby Jesus hates a wise ass, John. _

Revenge was sweet.

Gordon made a non-committal reply, disappearing before Scott ever looked up. He didn't want to be visible when John heard that. He wasn't sure what the reaction would be, but he was pretty sure he'd be able to hear it from the pod.

"Hey, Alan!"

The blond looked up at his brother, still a little sulky from earlier. He must have been tired, Gordon noted. Alan didn't usually sulk this long, unless Tin-Tin was involved.

"Think fast!" Gordon fired the ball of paper at his brother, who only just managed to catch it before it smacked him in the face. Scowl deepening, he aimed the glare at his tormentor.

"What was that for?"

Rolling his eyes, Gordon replied, "Read it, squirt. I thought it would suit your mood."

Un-crumpling the ball, Alan gave it a disinterested once over. He glanced back up at Gordon, and then down at the paper again.

"Cogito ergo doleo? Huh?"

"What, did I forget the translation?"

"Yeah…"

Gordon was saved from answering by the loud guffawing that was suddenly heard, ringing through the pod. He grinned.

_Yup. I was right._

_TBC… possibly…_

**A/N:** For those less linguistically inclined, here are translations. First for Scott's revenge phrase (yes, I know the Latin is a little off, but that's the best I could do), and second for Gordon's Alan-appropriate phrase.

Infans Jesu invidit assini_ Baby Jesus hates a wise ass_

Cogito ergo doleo I think, therefore I am depressed


End file.
